Crossing Over
by xxpoisonivyxx
Summary: A collection of drabbles. Five: Rainshine. Matsumoto and thoughts on rain and the past. It hurts to be caged, and it hurts to fight. How can you love and hate something at the same time? (MatsumotoGin...ish) (Spoilers up to the current manga chapters)
1. Flowers

**disclaimer **I don't own Bleach, but I do worship Ichigo.

**notes** I really caught the bug, huh? Anyways, I have a lot of Bleach drabble fics swirling around in my head.

Inspired by the opening of chapter 99, even though that's not really how it came out. Renji-kun's cool though, neh?

**pairings **IchigoRukia and RenjiRukia, but take it how you like.

**Flowers**

He knows that he shouldn't be like this. Acting girly, and if Rukia ever found out about this, she would be laughing that particular laugh she had, like _Oh, isn't Renji-chan so cute? The weird eyebrows must be tapping into his _brain.And he would want to punch her or the wall and scream _I'm a _man, **_dammit!_** And besides, she was the one that liked **bunnies.**

But he still found himself watching the birds in the sky and wondering where they went, where they are going.

_Freedom, _he thinks, _is a heavy price to pay._

Especially since now he had to rescue Rukia, rescue _her_ and not the other way around. Rescue her and somehow wipe off that look she had on her face. That look like maybe she had enough sorrow to drown in, and maybe she wasn't really alive anymore, shinigami or no.

And he wants to shake her and tell her to snap out of it. to tell her that the birds will always fly, no matter where she is. (Even if he himself cannot believe this. Not after she's gone.)

_Hey Renji, _she said to him once, all swirling and dancing in the rain, and it was just after she had gotten back with her captain, _why do you think we always reach for the dangerous things? Why do you think we reach for the flowers at the edge of the precipice? _And her vice-captain was gone and even though she was dancing and spinning he couldn't tell if it was rain or tears that streaked down her face.

He hadn't understood then, her whole "flowers on the edge" philosophy being too deep for him, but he had understood she was hurting, and he had wanted to hold her tight and tell her it was ok, it would all be ok. Instead, he had just shrugged and said, _aren't the most beautiful things always the most dangerous?_

And she had stopped and smiled at him, but it wasn't her usual smile. It was—_like the smile she's wearing now_—so much sadder and heavier.

No, he hadn't really gotten it then, but now he wasn't so sure.

He watched the birds and the flowers, and thought suddenly, _the flowers are like humans, hovering on the edge of death._

And he was beginning to understand why she had gone, and though it pained him to admit it, he felt an aching in his chest, because _he wanted to have been there._

And he was going to make it all right for her again. Make her smile like she _meant_ it, godammit. Even if he had to bring her that stupid little shinigami-_human._ Even if he had to go down into the depths of hell (but, wait a minute, he was there already, _hah-hah)_ and pluck her stupid little flowers _for her_.

The ones that were about to fall off a cliff.

There was something about beauty and death.

_Oh Rukia, _he thinks, walking away towards desertion (and, ironically, towards _her_) _you don't know how close you are to falling off._

**end**

But he (and that stupid orange-haired punk) will pull her back up all the same.


	2. Pricelist

**disclaimer **I don't own Bleach

**timeline **Pre-series. Spoilers abound, though.

**warnings **Urahara being Urahara. 'Nuff said.

**pairings **None. …well, maybe RukiaIchigo. Because they're so darn cute together.

**notes **Ok. I wrote this in ten minutes. You can probably tell. Because there was this chapter where Rukia's gigai was examined, and they said that it wasn't made by one of Soul Society's.

uhm, does Urahara remind anyone else of fandom!Eriol?

**Pricelist**

When he had first started out, there was barely a street, and the people that lived there were closed eyed and silent. And the amount of plus' and hollows were nearly double what it is now, without the convenience of what the mortals call "modern medicine."

He had called it merchandise, and had sold it by the tons to anyone foolish enough to knock at his door, and he had charged outlandish prices for them, and thought nothing of it, because back then, everyone had to eat, even the people that weren't quite. People, that is.

He had turned a profit, and had squeezed every penny, and he had smiled. A little sadly, and a little forced, but that was what the customers wanted.

He didn't think about swords and battles and experiments. He would have liked to say he didn't think about a dark-skinned woman that was more feline than not sometimes, but he knew that he would have been lying.

He was aware of it when a shinigami was assigned to his area, and he paid it no heed. He knew that it was a Kuchiki, but not one by blood, and that, if nothing else, made him rest a little easier. Someone adopted would be more accepting to his little business.

And he found that he was right, and that he only needed to adjust his business contacts _a little_, but that was okay, since he had people working under him now.

And as they ate dinner together, he would wonder if this was what they called family.

And Kuchiki-san pretended that there was no shop, and Yoruichi-san started to drop in a bit, and he smiled. Still a little bit forced, but if one looked hard enough, one could see a little bit of contentedness.

And the years passed and he started to keep his eye on the little bubble of power that resided just a few blocks away, because after all, that was why he was here.

Yet he was not prepared for that rainy night, and the power that had exploded near Kurosaki-kun's house, and he was not prepared for Kuchiki-san to stumble in, wearing _white_ robes, and for her to say, "I need a gigai."

He had smiled—a little nervously, and said, "Of course."

She looked a little crazed, and confused, but only confirmed, "A _good_ one."

He had feigned hurt and offence, and asked mildly if she was implying that his wares were not good enough—she ignored him—and they both pretended that the unconscious boy did not exist.

"How much are you willing to pay?"

Her eyes hardened, and he settled down, ready for a night of bargaining.

But then she looked a little uncertain, and glancing down at her hands, seemed to realize how little she had.

His eyes watched her all the while, and decided that though this wasn't really how things were supposed to go, that she would do just fine.

"Anything." She said at last, and he could hear the resolve in her voice. He was tempted to ask for her soul, though he knew that would be a little unfair, even for him.

He smiled now, a real smile. Yes. She would do quite nicely.

**end**

And when Kuchiki-san appeared every weekend scowling and grabbing a mop, everyone hid their smiles.


	3. King of New York

**disclaimer **I don't own Bleach

**notes **I really like Kon. He's super-awesome. Another first person from me. If I only knew what I was trying to say here, it wouldn't be so weird sounding. Le sigh. Still, read it for Kon's sake, 'kay?

**timeline **Just after Kon makes an appearace. Spoilers for that, and for Ichigo's mother.

**pairings **slight IchigoRukia

**warnings **Nothing. Only, Kon's not _supposed _to be this gloomy. Or hard to interpret. The title has to do with that chapter in the manga where it's very Kon-centric, and he starts to talk about what his name stands for. Or, for the OP of the anime, the scene where Inoue and Tatsuki spray-paint. Take your pick.

**King of New York**

I was made in a test tube. A sort of 'test-tube baby', if you will. I don't remember much about being born, or made, or whatever, and I don't really know which of my feelings are real of artificial.

But sometimes I can see flashes of things that aren't really happening, that haven't happened. A girl's smile, a small house, a rainy day.

Nee-san says that those are the residual memories from the souls which were taken to create me. She said that it must be because Soul Society's cleansing program wasn't as great as they had thought.

That stupid Ichigo says that a big portion of my past life must have been a pervert.

And I don't really mind. It's not a bad life, being stuffed. I don't get hungry, and I get to move around.

But still—I find myself wondering, sometimes.

Wondering who that girl was. Wondering who lived in that house. Why it was raining.

Nee-san says that those were the memories that must have stood out for the souls that were consumed, and it makes me wonder how they had died. How they had lived. It makes me wonder about my life now.

—

I don't really dream. Well, if I do, I don't remember them when I wake. It's just a void of darkness, and every time I try to remember, I get a buzzing in my head, and I give it up. Because if I keep trying, eventually I'll start to wonder if I even really have a head, and if I—

And I don't like to go that far.

But mostly, I just sit and watch nee-san and Ichigo sit around and be all awkward around each other. And I learn to be quiet because every time I mention that since the anniversary of Ichigo's mother's death, they haven't been the same, they smack me.

And if I get mad and declare that nee-san's _mine_, and as soon as Ichigo goes off and dies, I'll show her what a _real man_ can do, they smack me harder.

And when Ichigo's not around, nee-san hisses at me angrily about being more _considerate_, and thinking before speaking, and don't I know that that was his _mother?_

And I keep my mouth shut, because nee-san always looks so sad, and it makes me wonder why, and who that was close to her has died, and I don't say anything, not just because she is no longer looking at me.

I don't say anything because I don't know what to say.

I've never had a mother, you see.

—

Nee-san's always doing some kind of homework, and one time I heard her murmuring to Ichigo about a poet dreaming he was a butterfly.

He dreamed so vividly that when he woke up, he couldn't decide if he was a poet dreaming he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was a poet.

It reminds me of being a pill. Of being forcibly taken from my stuffed body and being clutched in a hand, and the feeling of being compressed, all of my feelings and thoughts being tightened, and I panic, because I can feel them slipping, and I don't know if they'll still be there, because when you're a pill, there's not a lot of room for thoughts—

And then I'll be shoved in a mouth, and someone will swallow me, and it will be okay. And Ichigo wonders why I hate being taken out so much.

Nee-san likes the story, because it has a butterfly in it, and because it reminds her of something. Something painful, but she likes it because it helps remind her.

She thinks the butterfly was a butterfly of death.

Ichigo doesn't really think much of the story, but when nee-san's not looking, he looks thoughtful. He thinks the poet was dreaming about death. He thinks the poet died, and that the lines between worlds can sometimes blur uncomfortably.

Here's what I think, even though they don't ask me. Even though they think that when they whisper together like that, that no one sees them, and no one notices.

I think that the poet was nothing. That there was never anything. I think that sometimes, no matter how hard you try, no matter how real it seems, there is nothing there.

That in life, there are never only two scenarios, and sometimes wishing for them to be there won't make it so. That the longing for something real sometimes means that there is less reality.

I think the man was just dreaming. Like me.

**end**

Nee-san says she hates it when I get moody like this. Ichigo says that I remind him of Tatsuki and Inoue and Ishida during PMS.

**end-notes **I don't really know what that was about. But that poet/butterfly thing was from somewhere I can't remember. I only know that it was famous. And I don't even know if it had a butterfly. Oh well. The interpretations of it are what I think the characters would think, and I know they are probably not right. Artistic license, though.


	4. Gratitude

notes AHH! I wrote a InoueIshida! Well not really, but it kinda is, and it scares me. I _never_ thought I'd do this, because I love this pairing and I think I might have ruined this. Uhm, yeah. Written in like 5 minutes. Edited in less than five minutes. Horrible. 

**timeline **A sometime-in-the-future fic. When everything is nicely resolved (or so I like to think.) General Soul Society spoilers.

**pairings **InoueIshida…kinda…if you want to read it like that…implied IchigoRukia, because I love them like that.

**warnings **Inoue being…thinkative. (is that a word? Nevermind.) She's being too moody-ish…Uhm, the missing quotaton marks are _supposed_ be like that. Uh…yeah. Trying something new again. Please review.

Gratitude 

This is for a thank-you she tells him stubbornly and a little harshly, but things change, and she's seen the dark side of things now, and her smiles are not so carefree anymore. None of theirs are, and as she tells him, she tries not to remember Kurosaki-kun's eyes as he looked at her and thanked her as well, and she remembers more or less ignoring him, fussing over his wounds, and chatting brightly to other people. (She allows herself to cry later, and wonder if the Shun Shun Rikka can mend broken hearts.) It is the last time he thanks her, and while she knows that he knows, she still does nothing about it.

She wants to make it clear that she has no feelings for him. All of hers are wrapped up in Kurosaki-kun, wrapped in pain and forced smiles, and even though she's smart enough (in school at least, and Tatsuki-chan wasn't the only one that was proud) to know when something is hopeless, she still isn't wise enough to learn to let go yet. And she is polite, and manners dictate that there are measures to be taken to show your gratitude.

She does not meet his eyes as she holds it out to him, instead focusing on an eyebrow, and the tint of light reflecting in his glasses.

He is shocked speechless and looks down at the gift, then up at her, then down at the gift again.

Take it, she orders, and he pushes up his glasses to buy time.

Why did you—he starts, and Ichigo, traveling down the hallway, not-so-subtly kicks him in passing, and with equal subtlety, flashes her a thumbs up. She smiles brightly back at him, and when he turns his back she lets her face fall, and she looks down to observe her gift mournfully. –OW you bastard, he finishes, I mean…thank you Inoue-san.

She looks very carefully at the figure at the retreating boy's side, and as if feeling her gaze, Kuchiki-san turns around, and smiles at her. She smiles back, and reminds herself to breathe. After all, this was the girl that Kurosaki-kun risked death for, a girl that meant more to him than life here. She knows the mechanics of giving things up, and of loss, and it could have been a lot worse—they could have died, but that thought doesn't lessen the pain. She wants to move on and forget and to smile for real when she sees them together.

It's for all that you've done for me, she announces loudly, and then in hushed tones, not wanting to promote any other messages like the ones that Kurosaki-kun probably thought this was all about, and in Soul Society too. She remembers laughing together, and forgotten pasts, and he really was a sweet guy. She remembers pretending that she was the one being rescued, and right now, she pretends again.

Please take it, she adds, seeing that he needs an extra prod, and shoves the gift into his hands.

He handles it gingerly, still shocked, and she shifts from foot to foot, wishing she knew what to say.

He mumbles something under his breath, and she snaps to attention, tossing away old memories and old wounds. What?

He looks up and looks her in the eyes, and somehow, past that, as he always does, and she sees the look of pain still rests in his own, and she knows with sudden clarity that he has been following her gaze all along, and says, this time louder, I'm sorry Inoue-san.

And her heart breaks again.

**end**

**end-notes **Hey lookie! No after the end-but-not-really sentence-thing! Whee! (Ivy is trying too many new things at once… -.-;;) Yeah I didn't feel one would fit here. You know to run when Ivy gets 'feelings' about things… Please review anyways.


	5. Rainshine

**disclaimer **I don't own Bleach

**pairing **MatsumotoGin…ish. (Why is everything I do 'ish'?)

**timeline **There is no timeline…because I don't know…spoilers for who they are and Soul Society

**notes **I'm trying another pairing. Turned out strange…again. Oh well. (Why oh why can't I hate Gin?)

**Rainshine**

There was something about rain and tears. Something so _simple_ about it that it made her remember her past, something she hadn't wanted to do for awhile.

The rain pours down and she remembers dirt and smiles and feeling full, and _happiness_, and she remembers _him_. She looks away from the gazes of her peers, the ones who whisper, the ones who admire, and the ones that are from _him._ (He is not a peer, but he is always looking at her, and that amounts to the same old thing, doesn't it?)

The rain makes her remember a time before there was loyalty, before there was right and wrong, when everything was just a shade of grey, but that was okay because she was grey too, and at least she had belonged.

_It hurts, doesn't it?_ He had once asked her, passing by in the halls, and looking at her again. She had ducked her head and averted her gaze, and tried not to remember. _Not being free?_

She had thought to herself that he really wasn't as innocent and unassuming as the others had thought, and remember his eyes on her, she had felt that he might be capable of murder. (Never a nice thought to think.)

There is a hidden meaning in his words, and she thinks that she should tell her captain about it, because in her mind she knows that when push comes to shove, she wants to be on a side she can _fight_ for. (But her heart isn't so sure, and she keeps silent. _He_ is someone she can fight for as well.)

Matsumoto both loves and hates the rain. (The tears she will keep to herself.)

_He's right. It does hurt._

She both loves and hates _him_, and it is not an easy feeling to keep in her heart, the two of them mingled together.

_But it hurt more being free._

**end**

Even now, she is not sure she made the right decision.


End file.
